Confession #8: Gifts…it’s a love/hate relationship

Well, here we are again…in conflict…with ourselves. Awesome.

I’m going to paint with some fairly large brush strokes here so please stick with me to the end.

One of the struggles a grieving person has are with the many gifts received.  I’m seriously practicing the Lamaze breathing as I type these words because of how awful that sounds. Didn’t use it in childbirth, but it feels right for this.

Now, before I go any further here, please don’t think we’ve tossed any of your thoughtful gifts out the back door. This is also not to say that I’m dreading receiving any new gifts that some wonderful friends have been promising. That has not happened in any way, but there are some things I haven’t had the internal fortitude to fully appreciate as of yet.

Gifts are another common issue for those that have experienced deep heartache but are too ashamed to admit. I have to say…it sounds so ungrateful and selfish. I hear ya.

But here’s the conflict…we SO appreciate the thoughtfulness and sheer love that prompts people to give said gifts. No joke. Deeply moved, kind of appreciation. But the reality is, it takes much more time to appreciate the gift as much as the giver.

I’m really not sure if it’s because of the reminder of WHY we received the gift…or if…well, yea…that’s it.

As a matter of fact, as we were recently talking with someone who’d lost a child, they said sheepishly, “If they ever drain the pond behind our house, there’s gonna be big trouble because that thing is full of every kind of thing you could imagine! We just couldn’t handle looking at it all.”  Well, we haven’t tossed anything…and we won't…but we also haven't soaked it all in yet either. 

Interestingly enough, gifts we received while Zoe was still fighting for her life in the hospital are especially dear to me. For example, our dear friend, Miss Candy, gave Zoe a heart necklace representative of the new heart she was getting. We hung it on her hospital bed during her stay, and now it hangs around her big sister, Dre Dre's, neck almost daily. She did get a new heart, and this necklace is a great reminder. Candy also gave me a necklace that day that said "Believe," in order to remind me to have faith that God would heal Zoe. I also wear that almost daily, but now I'm reminded to trust and believe that God's plans are higher and better than my ways. 

On the flip side, I can't seem to part with some things that are seemingly nonsense. One hospital day, we got some Chinese takeout for dinner. You can probably guess where I'm going with this…it's almost embarrassing. My fortune cookie that day contained the following message: 

"You will find complete contentment by summer's end." 

Well, even though I don't put stock in the reliability of FORTUNES, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I put it on my bathroom mirror as a reminder to keep looking forward to the future and not get overwhelmed in the scary moments. Honest to goodness, on the last day of summer, I cried as I read it. It's still there. I figure it didn't specify WHAT summer's end…so…yea…it's still there. Don't judge. Told you it was embarrassing. 

SO…to wrap this up…obviously I love and appreciate the thoughtful gifts friends and family have given us in remembrance of Zoe, FAR more than nonsense fortune cookies…and yet…what can I say?!? Nobody has accused me of thinking…or feeling…straight even before Zoe's death. Shocker.

Some of the best advice I could give in this area would be to continue to give from your heart, expecting nothing in return. Please understand that it may take some extra time to process even the sweetest offering. 

One such message and gift came by mail. It was a book from a new friend…one I've never met face-to-face…one who adopted her heart baby from China. He also did not survive his surgery. Heavy sigh. His sweet Momma wrote about their experience, and she sent me her book with a note attached. 

"You may not be prepared to read this yet, but I wanted you to have it whenever you are ready to do so. Praying for your family."

Honestly, I sat down with the book and was only able to get through the first 2 pages before I had to put it down. I still haven't been able to open it again…but I know it's there…and I truly look forward to reading it all one day. 

Does this make sense to you? I sure hope so. I guess part of me wants you to understand, among other things, why I haven't even been able to sit down and write out the thank you notes from Zoe's funeral. I feel the added weight of guilt for that, but the weight of sorrow is greater.

What's even greater? The incredible people who have given so much of themselves to our hurting family. We are most grateful for them…and are so very blessed to have each one of them in our lives. Please just remember that. We hold these relationships most dear…and it is that which we will treasure always.

A Reminder

Hey there, friends. I wanted to briefly remind you of a couple things in regard to this series of posts. First of all, please remember that I’m not posting these confessions to get a secret message sent to any offending party or even to give myself an avenue to vent. The sole purpose in sharing these things with all 15 of you :) is so that we (you and I, both) may be better equipped to help those who are hurting so deeply that they can’t begin to actually tell you what they need or how to best minister to them. Those of you that know me well, could testify that, if it were only concerning Eva, these confessions would never have seen the light of day. I try to tell myself to suck it up even more than I tell my children to do the same. Whoa. That’s a horse pill to swallow there. But I’ve felt compelled to press on even when I’d rather shut up.

So…I’m throwing myself under the bus here with these 10 confessions (I know…I know…you’re thinking, “Get this over with already!!! Sorry…2 more after today!) because I realized after losing Zoe that I had NO CLUE how cavernous this grief, and how arduous the process of scraping my way back to the surface, could be.

As I’ve shared before, this is an ugly process. I would encourage you to be the most patient with that truth. C’mon peeps…say it with me…

U-G-L-Y…you ain’t got no alibi…it’s ugly!

Hey hey…it’s ugly! Oh yea!

I may or may not have just plummeted off the deep end…even by cheerleader standards. Actually…mostly by cheerleader standards. We have a code, ya know.

Ok…focus. I was saying I’d encourage you to be patient with the dark days of the grieving process. If you think the grieving person/s should be rounding the corner and moving past their heartache, you’re missing this exact point. It takes as much time as any specific person needs for them to feel the ability to function with a chunk of their heart missing.

While straining for anyone, this is especially difficult for someone with type A personality like yours truly. It makes people uncomfortable for me to be down, less than exuberant even…to not be cracking jokes…talking loud…laughing even louder. Honestly, there have been plenty of moments…days, even…when there has still been a plethora of chaotic Eva-nonsense to make the concerned peeps relax. But there are also many days when the heaviness is great, and I’m in need of a supernatural lifting of my head. How sad would it be for me to stay isolated during those times, for fear of making others feel uncomfortable around my grief?

Let me put it this way. If the heavy heart of the grieving parent (or the like) makes you feel sad and uncomfortable, just imagine how much worse it would be for the one who’s in the thick of it. We don't like it anymore than you do.

Be patient, my friends. Be patient. Most of all, be compassionate.

Secondly, please remember that I’ve processed through a great portion of these issues before I ever share them with you all. This is not to say that I’ve checked them off my list and moved on, but rather that the Comforter has been hard at work in certain areas long before they reach your eyes and ears. The hard evidence of this would be where we stand in our series. I’m about to share confession #8 with you. I’ve already told you there are 10. Like I said, I haven’t been throwing these out to you right when they come to mind. I can honestly tell you that all 10 of these issues hit me almost one on top of the other within the first couple of weeks after Zoe’s death. But we’ve been waiting, you and I, to talk openly about them until some measure of grace has already been experienced.

We continue to be amazed by a mighty God and His loving people as we experience His great grace and faithful compassion in the midst of our heartache. Thank you for being with us on this journey.

Getting Back to Confessions of a Grieving Parent

Confession #7: It’s my fault.

It’s not. We know that. But underneath it all…at the core of our being…we blame ourselves. At least I do. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how irrational it may seem. The “what if’s” plague the grieving parent.

You can take any circumstance of child loss…the parents blame themselves in some way. This is the sheer definition of adding insult to injury…kicking somebody when they’re down…the proverbial knife in the back. And we do it to ourselves. But can I sincerely ask that you not scoff at how ridiculous that is? Not helpful.

Take Zoe. She had an extreme heart condition that left her out of oxygen, out of endurance, and, largely, out of hope. We knew it was a dire picture that couldn't look more bleak than her blue-lipped, 48 SAT little self could be. It was a miracle she had lived this long. Truly a miracle. Every doctor said so...and we truly believed she was a walking miracle. God had sustained her life for 3 of the longest years any child had ever lived. All the odds were stacked against any medical intervention changing the coarse of her life. But we fully believed the Almighty One would swoop in and show his amazing power in such a miraculous way that everyone that saw it would be in awe of the Healer.

Then she died. After every attempt humanly possible to save her life...with some of the best physicians in the country...amid the fervent praying of people all over the world. She died. 

And I blamed...myself. Zoe went into the hospital at her peak health and never came out. I quickly began to obsess about my role in her death. 

The doctors said she couldn't have lived much longer in that condition. A month...maybe 2. But God had kept her alive for years when she should've died a long time ago. Who's to say He wouldn't have continued to do the same?

Another issue was that, while she was in a terrible state when we first adopted her, she had turned a significant corner once we'd done the balloon procedure. Maybe we should've left it alone at that point...given her more time to grow stronger. 

At the bare minimum, we could've just had more time with her if we'd have waited on the surgery. Although we would've never been prepared for her death, we felt robbed. 

And the Enemy used all these grief-filled thoughts to lead me to say, "Look what I did. Zoe's dead because of me."

Now I usually don't share the resolution to these confessions, but I didn't want to leave you hanging this time.  This arrow of the adversary is too deadly not to give a shield of defense.

I've since shared this with several parents that have lost children, and, I'll admit, it brings me comfort every time I think it or say it. I pray it's been some measure of comfort to others as well.

Here it is.

God is not manipulated by my decisions. His plans for Zoe's life were not blown up in smoke when we took her into surgery that day. The Sovereign One did not throw His hands up in the air when the surgeon made that first cut and say, "Well, great. I had her whole life planned out, but they screwed it all up!"  Nor did He shout out, "WHAT?!? NO WAY!"

Just. Not. Possible. 

I do not have that level of clearance. None of us do. 

*sigh* 

Thank you, Lord.

October 11th-December 7th...it's been awhile

I’m coming out of hiding. I actually had intentions to continue along with the blog…sharing our daily triumphs and struggles…but when the days were more difficult to process than I could bear, I gave you the silent treatment. Sorry about that.  I’m not even big into that method of conflict resolution! Plus, you didn’t do anything to me! I was having a fight with life…you just got slammed for it. Yep. Like I said, sorry about that, you innocent bystander.

So…have I come back to life because everything’s coming up roses now? Uh, no…more like, my head (and heart) might very well explode if I don’t get some things off my chest.

Another reason for the kick in the pants is harder to swallow.  Today is the 6 month anniversary of Zoe’s death. 6 months sounds so short…and so very long. It's been an arduous summer/fall. Given the holiday season, I’ve thought about doing a Christmas letter to send out, but I’m confident it would not be the cheery update our friends and family would love to receive. I’m sure you’ve caught on by now…I’m not really the “put lipstick on a pig” kinda gal. Honesty’s the way to go. My vision is much better with the mask off. But not sure how would that letter would read...

            2013

We adopted Zane and Zoe from China.

It was awesome!

Then Zoe died.

It was awful!

Merry Christmas.

Obviously there were many amazing things God did in our family as a whole and with each of us, individually. But in keeping with that whole transparency vibe, this is the overshadowing reality and reaction when I think about 2013.

There is so much that has happened since I last chatted with you all…confessions I intended to share…health updates for the little man…and life at the Carr Castle. I’ll spend moments catching you up, as I’m able.

One of the notable updates would be my attempt to try and clean up my act, health-wise…which included taking a hiatus from my faithful friends, Diet Dr. Pepper and peanut butter! I know…I know…moment of silence. No, I don’t feel any better after being off of it…yes, I fully intend to have them whenever the urge hits! No convert here. The reason this is relevant is that I lost my super woman ability to stay up late…like past 8 pm. For real. And since I usually blogged at midnight…well, you see the problem.  So what do you do when you’re no longer a night owl? God puts your oldest child back in swimming, and you find yourself at the dreaded swim meet...you know the 5 hour event where your child actively participates for 5 minutes?!? Yea.

It’ll be nice catching up with you.